her spurs   
rusted in the
rain, she stepped
into my world with
Achilles Heel,

she listened
as I lifted the back
of each of her boots
in my palm, the mercury
slippery in my hand, polishing
her rowels,

took me
a long time
to climb this
heathen peak,
I put the mercury
back in its vial in my
ammunition box with
my gold nugget, the battle
was won,

she was only
a quarter buried
now in her own eroded
debris, a remnant of intrusions,
mangled iron from some cosmic
collision, she was already looking 
younger, apocryphal and damn legendary,

over a period
of years, the answer came
to me that beehives and justice
make good bed partners and a
woman's reach should extend her
grasp,

she's modified
her Achilles Heel,
her spurs still time-worn
like her last peso, the vultures
soaring overhead, reminding us,
scars, The Sundance Wives.

Copyright 1.12.2010 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist